


This Bed is Just Right (REWORK of The Goldilocks Effect)

by Crispin_Greaves



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), And we love them for it, Anyway you get the point, Bara Sans (Undertale), Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), MA, Mild Language, Named Reader, No angst here just two reformed people eaters and a cute human being emotionally constipated, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Changes(?), Prepare yourselves for the ultimate romantic comedy, Rating May Change, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Thats a maybe for now, a rework of my first fic titled 'The Goldilocks Effect', and if you relate to that then you're in luck!, and soft, cause everyone in this fic is a dumbass, farm life, farming, finishing what i started almost a year ago lmao, he big, hmmm, hunting will happen but i wont go into much detail just in case, i didn't want to abandon my boy so here we are, i gotta figure out how i wanna do it without being repetitive, i just want a big boi to help me water my plants and feed my chickens ok, i say as i write a fic about monsters that have eaten people, im not much of a gore person, leave them and their dreams be, reader is a little hick who just wants to farm y'all, reader is so stupid and honestly mood, rural life, sans and paps are squatters i guess, that's right boiiiiii, the skellytons are in my house ma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crispin_Greaves/pseuds/Crispin_Greaves
Summary: Rework of "The Goldilocks Effect"Your name is Daniella ‘Dandy’ Richards, and thanks to a random stroke of luck and old folk superstition, you now have the land to start the farm you’ve always dreamed of. Mr. Bradford, the previous landowner sold it to you for practically nothing, on account of some sort of ‘curse’ scaring the hunters off his lease. But curse or no curse, you’re willing to take the risk.And so, twenty thousand dollars later you find yourself driving to your new home, your meager possessions in tow.Mr. Bradford said the old lodge there was in ruins by now, but as you explore your new property you begin to realize that the house seems to be in surprisingly good repair, and a lot cleaner than you expected. Tired from the drive, you ignore the nagging feeling settling in your gut, and drift of into an uneasy sleep in the downstairs bedroom.But when you wake the next morning, you’re not alone.Should have thought twice before sleeping in someone’s bed, Goldilocks.Premise inspired by The Skeleton Squatters and the Landlady by Tyrant_Tortoise!! Ty if you're reading this ilysm
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	This Bed is Just Right (REWORK of The Goldilocks Effect)

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna harass me so i won't forget to update? Throw bricks in my yard when i give Sans' the wrong eyelight color?  
> Come follow me on the Tweeter!  
> I draw as well as write so feel free to observe my meager scribblings there as well  
> https://twitter.com/CrispyGreavArts  
> updates for this bad boy will be every Saturday, i hope you enjoy the absolute chaos i will unleash upon these poor bone boys

In the light of the afternoon sun, the highway splits the dense forest scenery ahead, cutting a path of tarmac onwards toward your destination. The sun is rapidly sinking in your rearview mirror, casting a golden glow on the trees, though your focus is hardly on your beautiful surroundings. 

Your focus is on the highway signs, excitedly scanning the right side for your turnoff. Your GPS quickly alerts you to your approaching destination: a fourth of a mile ‘til you reach Lawrence Road. Turning on your signal and moving to the highway’s shoulder, you spot the sign ahead and turn onto the narrow dirt road. 

It doesn't seem to be very well maintained, what with the abundance of potholes and the heavy brush that threatens to grow over into the center of the path, but right now you're too eager to care. You carefully make your way further down the road, searching for the old blue mailbox you were told would mark the entrance to your new property. 

After passing several dilapidated gates and overgrown driveways, you spot it: a lopsided but clearly blue mailbox, with its side labeled “Branford.” This must be it! 

The entrance gate looks to be in a similar state of disrepair, though when you try the latch it seems to work fine, gliding open with surprising ease. You push the metal gate off to the side, pausing in the middle of the drive to breathe in your first taste of mountain air. Further down the path you can see the large cabin, its windows reflecting the dying light, the small clearing around it standing out like an island in the sea of trees. 

Your breaths are slightly forced as you adjust to the altitude, but despite that your expression is one of pride and excitement. After all these years, you’re finally making progress on your lifelong dream. You hurry back to your truck to drive it through the gate. Looks like things are getting off to a good start already.

\---

Pulling up to the cabin, you take another look at the state of the property. 

Its even better than you’d hoped for! The driveway is overgrown but doesn't look too cracked, and the front of the cabin looks old but with no signs of damage. Despite your excitement and approval of its fantastic condition, something about it makes you uneasy.

Mr. Branford had warned you that the property would be falling apart at this rate, since he hadn't been able to maintain or even visit for the better part of a decade. But looking at it from here, you almost can't tell that its been abandoned for several years. Granted, he did have hunters leasing at one point, but there hadn't been any willing to hunt out here for about a year now. 

The ones who had used this property before were spooked nearly out of their skin, going on about some sort of creature that stalked them out in the timber, a phantom of some kind that seemed to bring bad luck in the forest. Most didn't believe the rumours, from what Mr. Branford said, but soon no one was willing to pay to lease the property around the mountain. That’s how you managed to snag this place for less than the going price, he was more than willing to get the property off of his hands after all the rumours and strange happenings. 

The so-called phantom may have brought bad luck, but things sure did seem to be turning out alright for you. Or so it seemed, until this little detail made you pause. 

Who would've wanted to keep the cabin in such a nice condition? Most of the hunters preferred to camp out in their RVs during season, and you don't remember him stating that anyone else had been there for a while. Things aren't quite adding up here, but at the moment you’re too curious to be concerned. 

Approaching the garage door, you quickly look things over. The lock seems to be secure, so you enter the combination and remove it. The door comes up with a little elbow grease, the disuse making the tracks more difficult to operate. But your attention is caught by the pristine garage floor. Its clean, and not in an untouched sort of way, almost like its been swept recently…

Alarm bells are really going off in your head now, though despite it you continue the process of putting your truck into the garage. 

Someone has clearly been using this house, but when, and are they still here? 

You think back to your previous conversations with the old owner. You had asked if hunters had been using the old lodge while he leased to them, but Mr. Branford had told you that none of them had asked to use it. It had been almost a year since hunters had been leased here regardless, and the only key to the lodge he had told you about was the one you had been given. 

Something here is NOT adding up, and despite your stubborn determination to at least spend the night here, you still feel a bit uneasy at the prospect. What if the person is still here? Aren’t classic slasher movies usually about someone finding an abandoned house and getting murdered in it??

Okay to be fair you don't actually know much about slasher movies, but you’re 90% sure that’s a common trope!!

But ultimately, despite your misgivings, you pull your truck into the far-too-clean garage, taking your keys and your phone with you just in case.

The garage is fairly empty upon closer inspection, and as you lower the door you make note of the meager tool selection hung up on the wall. Near the door leading to the rest of the house is a small coat rack, with an old blue parka hanging up on one of the pegs. You make your way towards it almost subconsciously, reaching out and gently ruffling the fur of the hood. 

Something about this coat feels... soothing somehow? You reluctantly pull your hands away, catching a whiff of peppermint from the well-worn fabric. For a moment you feel a sense of longing, visions of a snowy pine forest and a small town with brightly lit houses shining in the distance. A hand is in yours, rumbling laughter in your ear as the sleeve of a blue parka crosses your line of vision. 

You feel happier than you have in a long time, but as quickly as it appears, the scene is gone.

…

Huh…

What were you thinking about again?

You look back at the jacket, wanting to press your face into it for reasons you can’t describe, but you resist. You can’t just stand here and mess around, you have work to do before night sets in.

You unload your suitcase from the passenger seat. Enough goofing around in here, its about time you did some exploring!  
\---  
Okay now things are getting downright ridiculous.

The whole house is spotless, not a single speck of dust or even a stray cobweb to be seen. And while this is undeniable proof that someone has been here recently, you can’t find any items that seem to have been used. 

The taps are off, every bed is neatly made but they don’t smell used, and none of the electricity is on. It’s almost as if your house is being haunted by a very thorough butler ghost. After all, who would squat in a house with no running water? 

The well house behind the garage uses the same key as the house, so you quickly remedy that issue, flipping the breaker and turning on the well pump. Hopefully none of the pipes have issues, though you doubt anything severe would happen during one night. You’ll just have to check on things in the morning.

Despite the questionably cobweb-free interior, something about the house feels like home. Hopefully you won't get axe-murdered for your misplaced trust in the shitty but endearing home design. Though really what keeps urging you to stay is the very comfy looking bed in the downstairs suite. You’ve always been a sucker for creature comforts, if you die in a comfy bed then so be it. Better than sleeping in your truck anyway.

After thoroughly checking the house for knife wielding psychos, you feel comfortable enough to change into your favorite jammies. Your poor taste doesn’t just cover misplaced trust in strange houses out in the woods, as evidenced by your flamingo-print panties and oversized t-shirt that reads Quit Grabbing My Coconuts. But you like it, and the shitty joke never fails to make you smile.

You’re tempted to immediately flop into bed for the night, but first you grab your nightly meds and head to the kitchen to find something to get some water in. You did have the foresight to grab some water bottles when you drove down here, but you left them in the garage and aren’t really feeling like trekking out onto the cold concrete barefoot.

After a bit of rummaging you find a simple black coffee mug in the top cupboard, and after taking your medicine for the night you quickly brush your teeth and settle into the comfortable bed. God this mattress feels like heaven after the long drive, and yet even though you feel comfortable, there’s a nagging feeling that leaves you drifting off into an uneasy slumber. 

You dream of snowy forests, cold coffee cups, and the smell of peppermint tea. Rumbling laughter and flashes of blue lead you on through an endless maze of snow and ice, whispering words lost on the wind. 

Your sleep is deep and peaceful, better than it's been in a long time.

Until you find your face is buried in someone’s neck.


End file.
